Chapter 11: Whispers of the Soul Flame

The moonlight bathed the silent halls of the Feng estate, but Feng Ziyan was wide awake.

Tonight, the voice in her soul-space stirred again.

"He watches you."

The voice had always been calm, but tonight it trembled. She found herself sitting in the middle of her soul realm, surrounded by the stillness of white mist and soft glowing runes etched into the ground.

"I know," she whispered, eyes narrowing. "But who is he?"

The voice sighed. "He is the storm before peace. And the fire beside your flame."

Ziyan turned sharply. "That's not an answer."

There was silence—then a form flickered in the mist. A young man, cloaked in moonlight, his face still hidden behind strands of glowing hair. The same figure who had guided her through the most dangerous trials in this space.

"You are not ready to face him yet," he said, voice soft. "But he is closer than you think."

Ziyan clenched her fists. "I won't run this time. I'm done being played like a puppet."

The space trembled slightly—an indication of her growing power.

The soul guide stepped forward, lifting a hand to her cheek. Though he could not touch her fully, the sensation was warm, and achingly gentle.

"I will always walk behind you, Ziyan. Even if I can never walk beside you."

Outside her soul-space, she awoke suddenly—sweat clinging to her brow.

A loud knock echoed on her door.

"Miss Ziyan," whispered a servant. "You're summoned to the main hall. The Crown Prince has arrived."

Ziyan's eyes widened.

The Crown Prince?

So soon?

The knock still echoed faintly in the air, but Ziyan remained frozen.

"The Crown Prince?" she whispered again.

Her pulse thudded loud in her ears.

A shiver crept down her spine—not of fear, but of recognition.

She didn't know why, but the name sent a tremor through her soul.

She moved to the mirror, her fingers adjusting her outer robe. Her reflection shimmered in the glass, but for a brief heartbeat—it was not her own.

The image staring back at her wore a phoenix crown, her eyes fierce with betrayal and sorrow, cheeks streaked with soot and blood.

Ziyan staggered back. The mirror returned to normal, but her breathing was ragged.

She touched the glass.

The memory had returned in flashes for weeks now—moments stolen from the life she had lived and lost in flames.

---

Flashback – One Year Before Her Death (Previous Life)

The palace garden was drenched in moonlight, silver dew catching on the leaves like diamonds.

Ziyan stood at the stone bridge, waiting.

She had worn red—against tradition—but she didn't care. He liked her in red.

He came late. Always did.

Her cousin Yurou had been summoned to the Crown Prince's quarters that afternoon. Alone. Again.

And when Ziyan confronted her uncle about it, he had merely smirked, as if she were a child flailing against inevitable fate.

That night, as she stood under the moonlight, she clutched the jade pendant the prince had given her on her sixteenth birthday. "If your heart is still mine," she asked him then, "why do I feel like I'm always standing outside a locked door?"

He hadn't answered. Just kissed her brow like one might a fragile doll.

In that moment, her heart had cracked—but she hadn't yet realized the shatter would come later.

"Sorry," he said, smiling with those familiar lips. "The Emperor detained me."

Her smile trembled. "You never say no to him."

He cupped her face gently. "Don't pout."

She wanted to believe him. So badly.

But she had heard the whispers. Her cousin Yurou. The shifting gazes in court. The red marks on his neck that weren't from her.

"You promised to marry me," she whispered. "You swore you'd protect me."

"I will," he said. "When the time is right."

But the time never came.

And now, even his voice was poison in her memories.

---

Back in the present—

Ziyan's jaw clenched.

The past wasn't dead. It simmered just beneath the surface, clawing its way up like a drowned thing gasping for vengeance

She turned from the mirror.

She wasn't that girl anymore.

She wouldn't wait on bridges for lies dressed as love. She wouldn't wear red for anyone but herself.

Her footsteps echoed as she descended the corridor of the Feng estate. Guards bowed, servants moved aside. Whispers followed her, but she didn't care.

She entered the main hall—and stopped cold.

He stood beneath the lanterns.

Tall, draped in black and silver robes. His long hair was bound high, crown resting low on his brow. Sharp brows, cold golden eyes that seemed to pin her in place with a single look.

He looked nothing like the man in her memories.

But somehow…

She recognized the storm in his gaze.

The room bowed to the Crown Prince.

Ziyan did not.

Not right away.

The doors were open. Light spilled across the marble floor like golden fire. In the center stood a man clad in imperial black, silver embroidery curling along his sleeves like entwining dragons. His boots were dustless, posture proud—but his face…

Ziyan's heart missed a beat.

He was not the man from her past life.

He was more than that.

Eyes like tempered steel locked with hers the moment she stepped into view. Emotionless, unreadable—but they shimmered faintly with something familiar. Dangerous.

She'd seen those eyes in her dreams, hadn't she?

The ones from her soul-space?

The soul guide's warning echoed in her head.

"He is the storm before peace. And the fire beside your flame."

A flicker of heat settled low in her spine—unease, or recognition, she couldn't tell.

"Feng Ziyan," the Crown Prince said, his voice deep, steady. "We meet at last."

He was nothing like the betrothed from her past. This one didn't smile to hide daggers—he simply let his silence speak of fire.

She bowed slowly. "Your Highness honors our house.

He tilted his head. "I've come for a reason."

Of course he had. Everything in this realm moved with a purpose. And she was beginning to suspect she was that purpose.

The elders watched the exchange with veiled interest.

Ziyan met his gaze directly. "Then speak your reason."

But before he could, the wind shifted.

Her soul-space stirred again.

The presence returned—a whisper behind her ear.

"Be careful. His hands carry fate, but his past holds ruin."

She didn't react outwardly. She had learned better.

The Crown Prince extended a scroll toward her, and she took it—her fingers brushing his just slightly. The contact sent a jolt through her. Not pain. Not warmth.

Something deeper. Like recognition carved in fire.

As she unrolled the parchment, her stomach twisted. An imperial decree.

---

By order of the Emperor,

Feng Ziyan is to accompany the Crown Prince to the Capital as an honored guest and join the imperial academy

---

She looked up sharply.

A trap?

Or something else?

Behind the prince, a girl her age in dark green robes stood silent. Sharp-eyed. Observing Ziyan like a chess opponent, not a courtly friend.

Another pawn?

Or… another threat?

Ziyan smiled slowly, the expression cool.

"An honor," she said. "I look forward to serving the Empire."

But her thoughts were already racing.

This was no invitation. It was a test.

And she would not fail it.

---

Later that night…

Ziyan stood in the garden, holding the scroll in her lap.

The stars blinked above—but the soul-space shimmered again behind her eyes.

"You're walking toward a storm," the guide said.

She turned to him. The mist parted enough to show the edge of his face this time—elegant, angular. Sad.